The Falling Rain
by smilingdamnedvillain
Summary: The Shinigami have faced many setbacks and trials, but this is their first true defeat. A series of one-shots following the Vandenreich Invasion.
1. Grey Clouds

**A/N: Inspired by the latest events of the manga, I've decided to write my own Bleach story. This is more of a short prologue leading into the rest of the story. I'm not sure how long this story is gonna be, since I made it on the spur of the moment. However, it's gonna be a sort of ensemble piece focusing mostly on a few of the Lieutenants and maybe one or two of the Captains.**

**Please be sure to let me know what you think.**

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Waking up felt like forgetting how to breathe. His body had run on automatic for who knows how long and as his eyes forced themselves to open at least a little bit, his instincts yelled at him, causing his whole body to freeze. His body had been shot through. He'd lost his arm. His lungs had been punctured. He shouldn't have been able to breathe.

But nevertheless, he forced himself to draw in a breath. He was alive. The excrutiating pain felt as though it had just happened – his body was convinced it just had – but it had been a while ago. Hours? Days? Weeks? He wasn't sure.

His mind felt hazy and distant. Forming thoughts felt like trying to reach into the ocean to catch a fish. As soon as he reached for them, they swam away. He grunted a little, but the pain was slowly passing. He'd already been awake for a few minutes, or so it felt, but only now he was beginning to recognize where he was.

White walls. A white ceiling. A comforting bed beneath his weak form. He was in the General Relief Station. So he _hadn't_ been dreaming. It had actually happened, and he was now recovering. But there had been no battle for him. Ordinarily, he would have seen the battle with his own eyes and fought. But this, in its own way, was slightly more terrifying.

He hadn't even seen the battle. He had only seen a white light, shooting out from blue flames. His body had been pierced through and he'd fallen into unconsciousness. He had barely lasted even a moment, if it could even be called that. It sent shivers down his spine, to know that he hadn't even stood a chance. It was a feeling he hadn't felt since Aizen's war.

His head tilted only slightly, staring off across the room. He was apparently placed in a room on his own. His condition must have been incredibly serious. But his mind wasn't focused on that.

Had they won? Had they defeated the invaders? What if they had lost? That sent another chill down his spine.

Who had died?

How many dozens of Shinigami had perished in the battle? How many of his own men? How many had been slaughtered by the enemy? But perhaps most heart-wrenching of all; were the other Captains and Lieutenants okay?

He was a Lieutenant, yet he'd been taken down in an instant. What if the same had happened to the other Lieutenants? What if the same had happened to one of the Captains? Were the others safe? Were they okay? What if they were injured, as he was?

He shut his eyes and attempted to push aside the thoughts, but they now consumed him. He was frantic with worry, his whole body feeling a new kind of ache. It was unlike the pain of his injuries. This ache was duller, but it grasped tightly around the very core of his being.

He could hear a door being pulled open. Slowly opening his eyes, he looked across the room to see a towering yet slender figure. Her hair wasn't exactly grey, but a silver colour. She entered slowly, watching him curiously for only a moment before realizing that his eyes were indeed ever so slightly open.

"Lieutenant Kira!" she almost jumped with shock, rushing to his side. She knelt down, looking into his eyes to make sure he was conscious. He opened his mouth, but he was finding difficulty in forming words. She noticed, but shook her head and placed a hand on his.

"Please, Lieutenant, don't move. Your body is recovering, but its still in a very weakened state. We weren't sure you were going to make it," the silver-haired woman spoke, her throat feeling dry. Her eyes looked frightened, and the area around them looked red. He could tell, from that glance – This wasn't just about him. There were others – many others who had been injured or worse, killed during the battle.

"Lieutenant... Koutetsu..." he breathed weakly, his words barely a whisper.

"Kira, please," Isane begged him to stop, but he needed to know.

"What... Happened? Is Soul Society... Okay?" he spoke, his eyelids feeling empty. She didn't answer but the way her eyes watered over. The way she stayed deathly silent. The way concern took hold of her features. Nothing was okay.

Least of all Soul Society.


	2. The Defeated Warriors

"How long's it been?"

The question hung uncomfortably amidst the silence, like a guillotine hanging above one's head. The two men shifted uncomfortably where they sat, with the bald man regretting he'd even asked.

"Two days," the more effeminate man responded, popping the cap off of a jug of sake. There was another cold silence was he began to pour the liquor into a small dish that sat on the low table before him.

The atmosphere within the barracks was eerie. The Eleventh Division was many things, but quiet definitely wasn't one of them. No one had known what happened exactly, but when the Lieutenant came to them with the Captain's eyepatch, the entire Division had changed.

The Fourth Division Captain had also gone missing, of course. Many assumed that wherever the Eleventh Division Captain had gone, so had the Fourth. It was the only explanation there was. But the Eleventh Division wasn't like the Fourth Division. Even now, with their Captain missing, the Fourth Division still did their jobs. Their work didn't stop. Even if there had been a shift in mood within the Division, it wasn't enough to stop the Fourth Division from doing its job.

Eleventh Division, on the other hand, was silent. There were no loud screaming matches – no brutal brawls or rowdy drunkards flailing around with wooden practice swords. There were no thugs picking fight with one another or drawing swords. There was only an uncomfortable, empty silence.

"Pass the sake," the bald man spoke, reaching for the jug. A pain seared through his ribs as he did so, but despite wincing he ignored it long enough to grab the jug as the dark-haired man passed it. Rather than pour the drink into a dish like his comrade had, he simply found himself staring into it. A few moments passed before he raised it up, beginning to drink straight from the jug. His comrade stared silently at him whilst drinking from his dish carefully.

The dark-haired man shut his fuchsia eyes for a short moment before he set down his dish again, his mind replaying the battle – or rather, the slaughter. There was nothing else to call it, really. Lieutenant Kira was on the brink of dying and it was uncertain just what had happened to Captain Kuchiki, Lieutenant Abarai and Lieutenant Kuchiki since they were taken to the Soul King's Palace. Four Captains had lost their Bankai, Captain Kyouraku had lost his eye and the Captain-Commander's body was completely obliterated. All that remained of him was a broken sword robbed of its Bankai.

"He'll be back," the bald man spoke, placing the jug down firmly on the floor. The effeminate man opened his eyes to look up to him, attempting to read his expression. The corner of his lips tugged a little, curving into a hollow smile.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were worried about how I'm taking it," he responded, letting out a mirthful chuckle.

"Yeah?" the bald man replied, looking up towards him. "Then it's a good thing you know better".

The two men found themselves looking down towards their drinks again, abandoning eye contact as quickly as they'd established it. The silence grew again, engulfing the room. It fell upon their shoulders like a heavy weight, and neither of them were sure they could shake it off. Their Captain had just woken up, and now he was gone again. They knew that in their line of duty death was something to be expected. They knew it was unreasonable to think they would live long enough to retire. But so easily, the stability of their world had been ripped out from beneath them.

"Of course he'll be back," the bald man spoke, repeating himself. "He won't lose again. We won't lose again".

The effeminate man looked towards his fried for a brief moment before looking back to his drink, raising the dish slowly to his mouth.

"Of course we won't," he agreed with his comrade, beginning to take a sip. "I refuse to see us die such ugly deaths".


End file.
